


Fallin' (Adrenaline)

by LeilahMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Flying Lessons, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era, One Shot, literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilahMoon/pseuds/LeilahMoon
Summary: ---When Professor McGonagall encourages all Hogwarts students to participate in a mentor scheme designed to promote inter-House unity, Hermione Granger is thrilled; she can’t wait to embrace the opportunity for further education. Unfortunately, she's not able to choose who she is allocated to and, when her mentor turns out to be Draco Malfoy, she’s certain she won’t learn anything at all.---The title for this work comes from 'Fallin’ (Adrenaline)’ by Why Don’t We.---
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 68
Kudos: 276





	Fallin' (Adrenaline)

**Author's Note:**

> ❤️ Thank you so much to [ Canttouchthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canttouchthis) for being a fabulous beta (and more) and whose gifs and words are a constant source of entertainment. Also, thank you to [ CharliPetidei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharliPetidei/pseuds/CharliPetidei) for being the best cheerleader and helping me make sense of my ideas. ❤️

The Great Hall was alive with the sound of chattering students settling in after a long summer break. Golden plates and goblets gleamed in the light of a hundred candles as laughter echoed its way up the tall stone walls until it reached the velvety night sky ceiling, disappearing amongst the stars.

The four long House tables stood perpendicular to the staff sitting along one side of a fifth, facing their pupils, and the evening progressed much as it usually did. When the Sorting concluded, Minerva McGonagall got to her feet. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,” she said, a small smile on her face. “I will not keep you from your feast for much longer, however, I do have one brief announcement to make before we get started.”

Excited whispers began filling the room until the Headmistress spoke again, and silence fell immediately. “We as a staff team are keen to reduce the separate nature of our Houses and instead promote unity between all students. Whilst we have a number of plans that will be rolled out gradually, the first will be our new mentoring programme.” She looked around the room, gauging the initial response.

“All students will be asked to write down one thing they would like to improve upon and, over the school year, will be paired up with a mentor from another House to help you achieve this goal. We’re going to start by requesting those in Gryffindor to make a note of their choice by tomorrow morning so that we can match you up immediately.”

Hermione’s face was flushed as she bounced lightly in her seat. “What a fabulous idea,” she said excitedly once McGonagall had finished her explanation. “Have you two any ideas about what you might like to improve? I’ve got quite a few already, I think.”

Ron gave Harry an exasperated look before turning back to Hermione. “Give us a break, ‘Mione. We’ve barely been back twenty minutes! It’s a load of rubbish this, anyway.”

“Maybe _your_ improvement should be to work harder,” she huffed. “Or learn better manners, perhaps.”

Harry laughed at Ron’s glowered response before saying quietly, “I mean… it _would_ be good to learn a bit more about potions – I’m a lot further behind than I should be.”

“That’s great, Harry,” Hermione nodded, a pleased smile etched across her face. “You’ll need at least an Exceeds Expectations if you want to become an Auror, after all.”

Ron ignored the conversation entirely, instead preferring to focus on shovelling food into his mouth, and Hermione rolled her eyes. She’d had a crush on this boy for such a long time but it was becoming increasingly apparent that they had very little in common. In this precise moment, for instance, she struggled to understand how someone could be so uninterested in learning and developing themselves.

The feast continued and, as Hermione, Harry, and Ron finished their meals and made their way to the Gryffindor common room, she felt cautiously optimistic about the year ahead.

* * *

Hermione had been so worried about choosing the perfect ‘improvement’ that she barely slept and her eyes were heavy and aching as the watery sun finally began seeping through the curtained windows. She still wasn’t certain that she had made the right decision, but thought she might be able to opt into the next round of the mentor programme if all else failed.

Steeling herself for the day, she rose from bed and got ready quickly before heading downstairs to the common room to meet Harry and Ron. To her surprise they were both waiting for her, slouched inelegantly across one of the large, comfortable sofas.

Harry grinned when he caught sight of her and pulled Ron to his feet. “Let’s go!”

As they walked together down carefully selected staircases, Hermione asked cheerfully, “So, Ron, what did you decide to put down for the mentor programme in the end?”

A crimson flush crept up Ron’s neck and he shook his head. “None of your business,” he muttered.

Harry met Hermione’s confused glance but neither commented, instead choosing to follow silently behind their bad-tempered friend. As they arrived in the Entrance Hall, the trio came upon an exquisitely designed, gold embossed chest surrounded by a crowd of students. Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and fished out her piece of parchment, placing it carefully into the large wooden receptacle. 

The noise within the Great Hall was almost twice as loud as it had been the previous night; every student eager to hear the results of the newly developed mentor scheme. The Gryffindor table was particularly rowdy as they awaited news of who they were to be paired with.

Hermione’s nerves meant that she had absolutely no appetite for breakfast but, fortunately, it wasn't long before the large chest was levitated carefully into the Hall. Every head turned to watch as McGonagall waved her wand in an intricate pattern and, slowly, each piece of parchment rose gracefully into the air and fluttered swiftly towards its new owner.

Hermione watched as a light brown slip landed neatly into her waiting hands, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. Glancing around the room, she wondered whose name might lie inscribed before her; she thought it might be quite nice to get to know some of the Ravenclaws a little better, perhaps.

“Thought you’d have torn yours open?” Harry chuckled, noticing her frozen posture.

She shook her head, uncertainty riddling her features. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

“Alright, look, I’ll go first.”

Hermione nodded her thanks as he ripped apart his parchment.

“I’ve got Theodore Nott,” Harry grimaced, before attempting to put on a brave face. “It’s fine – could be worse, right?”

“Nott?” Ron piped up, his mouth full of toast. “Good luck with that mate.”

“And who have _you_ got, Ronald?” Hermione asked primly.

He choked. “Oh, well, I thought I’d check later. Come on, open yours then.”

Harry gave her an encouraging look as she reached out, the parchment feeling rough against her fingertips as she cautiously unfurled the edges. The two boys leant over her shoulders to read and she heard their sharp intakes of breath before she'd had a chance to read the cursive handwriting.

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Ron muttered.

She looked down.

_Mentee: Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)_

_Topic: Learn to fly a broomstick_

_Mentor: Draco Malfoy (Slytherin)_

* * *

“What a bloody nightmare,” Ron complained as they made their way to the first lesson of the day. “Malfoy – of all people!”

“Why is _my_ name coming out of a Weasel’s mouth?” a voice drawled from behind them.

Harry and Ron turned abruptly, Hermione a little slower – she wasn’t ready to face him, not ready to hear what ridicule he was going to send her way.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry frowned.

“I need a word with Granger,” he smirked, clearly enjoying their discomfort. “Now, if you two buffoons wouldn’t mind?”

The two Gryffindor boys stepped forward, but Hermione intercepted them. “Harry, Ron, it’s fine – I’ll meet you in the classroom.”

Neither looked pleased about her decision but, to their credit, they did as requested and strode quickly away, as though afraid their resolve might not last.

“Go on then, Malfoy. What do you want?” Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You _did_ receive your parchment this morning, didn’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione said. “I just didn’t think you’d actually bother to try and arrange something.”

An emotion she didn’t recognise flashed almost imperceptibly through Malfoy’s eyes before he retorted, “Why, Granger, how presumptuous of you.”

She scoffed. “Are you surprised?”

“I suppose not,” he conceded, although it looked as though it cost him something. “Right, we haven’t got long before class – I’m free on Saturday morning at ten, would that suit you?”

“Yes, that’s fine, where shall we – ”

Malfoy had disappeared before she could finish her sentence.

* * *

Saturday came around much quicker than Hermione had anticipated, despite the almost constant backlash she’d received from Harry and Ron. As she strode from the castle, making her way towards the Quidditch pitch, she still felt heavy with the feeling that they blamed _her_ for being paired with Malfoy which was, of course, entirely unfair.

Their reaction had led her to wonder whether she had chosen the wrong thing for McGonagall’s programme. When they had been given the task she initially considered something to do with Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, but decided that, ultimately, these were topics she could improve upon by herself, whereas flying a broomstick was the only subject in which books had ever failed her.

She checked her watch and scowled. Hermione Granger was never late, and, yet, here she was, running approximately three minutes behind schedule. It wasn’t that she no longer wanted to learn, she just wished it didn’t have to be with _him_ : Draco Malfoy. 

Her hesitation intensified as she drew closer and spotted a lone figure drawing lazily circles in the air with his broom. Malfoy had, for some unknown reason, deemed it appropriate to don his entire Quidditch uniform, and there was just something about the attire that sent Hermione’s usually logical brain into a tailspin.

She hadn’t realised she was staring until his familiar drawl pulled her from her reverie. “Granger.”

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, she grimaced and gave a vague wave in response. “Er – yes, so I’m here... as requested.”

“You wanted to learn how to fly?” he asked, his tone amused.

She nodded awkwardly. “Yes, it's – well it’s always been difficult for me.”

“Let's get started with the basics, then,” Malfoy said, surprisingly gently. “Do you remember how to get the broom up into the air?”

Hermione nodded and stared fervently at the broomstick in front of her; she was determined to finally do this. “ _Up_ ,” she whispered, nervously.

Nothing happened.

“Granger, you look as though you’re about to enter into battle with a Blast-Ended Skrewt! You need to be more relaxed – make it believe you actually _want_ it to obey your command.”

She huffed and repeated, “ _Up!_ ”

This, at least, resulted in a small twitch.

Malfoy cocked his head, brow furrowed in thought. “Okay, imagine you’re walking through Hogsmeade and you notice an old, battered book, just lying on the cobblestones. As you get closer, you see it’s a first edition of ‘ _Hogwarts: A History_ ’ and – ”

The broomstick flew into her hand.

“I did it!” Hermione gasped, gripping the rough wood tightly, eyes wide in surprise.

A broad smile flashed across his face before being abruptly masked with an expression of indifference. He shifted uneasily. “All we’ve got to do now is get you on it.”

“Oh, Merlin,” she muttered, warily eyeing the wooden monstrosity before her.

Malfoy held the broomstick steady as she carefully raised one leg and sat down. He gifted her with a small smile when she looked to him for confirmation, and guided her hands to grasp the handle tightly.

“Alright,” he said, taking a step back, “if you just lean very slightly – ”

She wasn’t listening. 

Hermione’s body jerked violently as she sped abruptly forward at breakneck speed, adrenaline burst through her veins, and she screamed.

“ _Granger!_ ”

She thought she heard Malfoy’s heavy footsteps chase after her, but the roar of bitterly cold wind whipping past her drowned out almost all noise. As the Hufflepuff Quidditch stands came steadily closer, she made the rash decision to launch herself off the broom and, hitting the ground painfully hard, rolled rapidly across the grass.

The wind knocked out of her, she lay flat on her back, staring blankly into the watery blue sky. She gradually wiggled each of her limbs, pleased to find no sign of serious injury, and gingerly began to sit up.

A dark shadow occluded her vision. 

“Sweet Salazar,” Malfoy snorted, “how can you be so clever and yet so ridiculous at the same time?”

“Sorry – what?”

“Why on earth would you think leaning forward like that was a good idea?!”

She glowered at him. “You are insufferable, Malfoy. Just because I panicked does _not_ give you the right to speak to me like that.”

“I don’t get it,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Haven’t you ridden a _Thestral_?”

“Yes…”

“So, why not a broomstick?”

“I just – ” Hermione paused, wondering what he might make of her reasoning. “Mr Weasley once told us never to trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain. I’ve never been able to rid myself of that idea.”

He frowned. “You do realise that brooms can’t actually think for themselves, don’t you?”

“Strictly speaking, perhaps not; but they are, nonetheless, powerful instruments,” she explained.

Malfoy appeared to be working quite hard to avoid rolling his eyes again. “Well, just try to remember that’s all they are; _you_ control them – alright?” She nodded as he continued, “I think that’s enough for one day, same time next week?”

Hermione exhaled sharply as he walked away, somehow finding herself simultaneously annoyed and grateful in equal measure.

* * *

Unlike the previous week, this next one passed by entirely too slowly. Despite her near-death experience, Hermione found that she was actually looking forward to her next flying lesson. Surprisingly, Malfoy wasn't entirely awful company after all, and he really could teach quite well.

“How’ve you found spending time with Nott?” she asked Harry as they strolled towards Charms one afternoon.

“Hmm? Nott? Oh yes, fine, I suppose.” Harry blushed uncharacteristically, and she frowned in confusion at her friend.

“What’s he like at tutoring?”

She could have sworn the words ‘he’s very _hands-on_ ’ came out of Harry’s mouth but she had no time to question him further as they were ushered into the classroom. 

* * *

There was an icy chill in the air on this particular Saturday morning and Hermione could hear the frosty grass crunch beneath her feet.

“You came back, then?” Malfoy called, striding quickly towards her.

She thanked Merlin that he wasn’t wearing his Quidditch uniform today. Although, as it turned out, grey joggers and a white t-shirt weren’t really much better. There was still far too much of him on show, the material perfectly outlining his lithe body.

“Yes, apparently so,” she muttered. “What’s the plan for today?”

He gestured to the broomstick lying on the grass a few feet away. “After the trauma of last week, I thought we should practice on mine instead.”

Even Hermione could see that it was superior to the school brooms. Its streamlined tawny brown handle was inscribed with the words ‘ _Firebolt_ ’ and her eyes followed the glossy wood to a neat birch broomtail.

“It does zero to sixty miles per hour in less than four seconds,” he said proudly.

She shuddered. Considering her last experience, this didn’t seem like something to be pleased about. “ _Must_ we?”

“Yes,” Malfoy replied, nodding emphatically. “It’s a much smoother ride – I promise you’ll find it a lot easier.” He stepped towards her and gently caught her arm with his hand, pulling her towards the grounded broom.

His fingers felt searingly hot against her skin and she could feel her face heat up in response to their close contact. He seemed to realise it too and leapt away as though burnt.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat, “let’s get on.”

“You make it sound as though you’re going to be joining me?”

Hermione stared at him incredulously as he stood astride the floating broomstick.

“It’ll be easier for me to guide us if I’m sat behind you.”

Her nose wrinkled in thought as she considered this; she supposed it made sense, even if the idea of it sent her heart into a frenzy. Unwilling to acknowledge this new, inconvenient feeling, she simply nodded and moved to her designated position in front of him.

Malfoy carefully wound his arms around her waist, and she gripped the broom between her hands. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured, and, as she leant forward, noticed his chest push more firmly against her back. Whilst the pressure sent a shiver of pleasure through her body, it also made her feel safe and more confident to increase their speed.

Soon, when they were finally cruising at a balmy five miles per hour, Hermione heard him chuckle behind her. “What?” she griped.

“Granger, my great-great-Grandmother could _walk_ faster than you’re flying this broomstick right now.”

“Right,” she huffed, “well, you’re the teacher, so teach!”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “As I _tried_ to explain last weekend, the further forward you lean, the faster you’ll go” – she made to interrupt, but he ignored her – “so, _please_ , be careful.”

She reluctantly acquiesced, and it didn't take long before the wind was whipping strands of dark curls across her face, the Forbidden Forest beginning to blur as they sped across the pitch.

“Well done,” he praised. “Have a go at turning now – you just need to lean in the direction you want to go.”

Hermione tried, she really did. But each attempt took her either in the opposite direction to which she desired, or simply in a neat circle. Eventually, she became too frustrated and pulled them to an abrupt halt, jumping angrily to the ground.

She felt the familiar burn of hot tears start to form, and swiped furiously at her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered, entirely appalled with herself, “I just don’t understand why I’m not getting this!”

He looked as though he might’ve smirked but, at the last minute, thought better of it. “Granger, this is literally your third time on a broom – give yourself a break.”

“I can’t though, can I?” Hermione said angrily. “How can I ever ‘give myself a break’ when there are still people who…” she trailed off.

Malfoy stiffened. “Who _what?_ ”

“Well, I suppose,” she shifted uncomfortably, “I mean those people who still view me as an outsider in the wizarding world, as lesser, and when they find out I can’t even fly… I can tell what they think of me – my _kind_.”

His eyes darkened as they locked onto hers and he took a step closer, lifting his hands to cup her face between his palms. She jerked backwards at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” he faltered. “I shouldn't have – ”

“Oh, no, no it’s fine.”

“No, really, I – I’m sorry, sorry for everything,” Draco’s brows furrowed. “I’ve learnt things, you know, over time and, well, I know it’s not enough – it’ll never be enough – but, I am _so_ sorry.”

Hermione started, wondering when she had begun to think of him by his first name, and looked up, eyes wide. Her mouth felt dry and her tongue too big as she struggled to find the words to express what this unexpected apology meant to her.

He continued talking, “You never deserved any of it and I’m sorry that I, or anyone, has ever made you feel as though you were lesser.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

They stood staring at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, silence swelling around them, until she couldn’t tolerate it anymore. She waved her hands awkwardly. “Well, I suppose – ”

“ – Yes, okay – ”

“ – I’d better go.”

Draco moved as though he was going to touch her again before pulling his arm back, suddenly thinking better of it. A light flush stained his cheeks as he said, “You know, I’ve recently started reading about Muggle culture and it’s fascinating – the wizarding world has a lot to learn.”

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. “See you next weekend,” he mumbled, turning his back to her.

She watched him walk quickly back to the castle, taking long strides and occasionally raking a hand through his hair. Her heart was still pounding as she remembered the feel of that same hand against her cheek and couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if she hadn’t moved away.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure how this shift in their relationship had happened, all she knew was that it had, and she didn't know what to do about it. However hard she tried not to, she found herself staring in his direction during every lesson, drinking in his white blonde hair and sharp angular features. As each day passed, it became increasingly difficult to pretend there was nothing between her and Draco, particularly when she noticed him returning her stolen glances.

And it appeared that she wasn’t the only one pining after someone. Harry and Theo were less than subtle: their small smiles, dilated pupils, faint pink blushes. She could hardly contain her excitement at finally seeing her friend so enthralled. He had been interested in Ginny, of course, but the look in his eyes when he was around Theo was something entirely different.

Ron on the other hand, continued to be an anomaly. Much to Hermione and Harry’s confusion, he remained silent on who he was meeting and what they were doing together, and they quickly decided not to push him on the matter. 

* * *

Their third lesson was the first time they had both smiled at each other as she reached the green field. Hermione felt a swell of butterflies in her stomach as she approached him, her heart fluttering wildly. Draco gestured gently towards his broom and she took her position silently. 

She was used to the warming sensation of his chest against her back as they flew together now; she almost couldn’t imagine sitting on a broomstick by herself at this point. The weight of his arms wrapped around her provided a grounding feeling and made her feel safe. She leant back, pressing herself closer to him, and wondered at how comfortable they had become with one another in such a short amount of time.

He smiled into her hair, murmuring, “You’re doing such a good job, Granger” – a small shiver ran through her in response to his praise – “you really don’t need me to fly with you anymore you know.”

“Yes, I do!” she squeaked, only just refraining from looking down. “I’m definitely _not_ ready to do this alone.”

Although she couldn’t see his face, Hermione knew he would be rolling his eyes. “Fine, but let’s go a bit higher – we need to improve your confidence.”

She dutifully followed his instructions and tilted the broom gently upwards. It was a beautiful morning, the perfect weather for a peaceful journey around the grounds, and she couldn’t prevent the small gasp that escaped her as she caught sight of her school; the castle was bathed in a golden glow from the low lying sunrise and framed by the pale blue sky. They sat, hovering quietly for a while, simply appreciating the view before them.

A strong gust of wind suddenly caught the tail-end of the broom and Hermione panicked, hands gripping tighter against the smooth wood. Caught so unexpectedly, she did the exact opposite of what Draco had taught her and swerved away rather than into the breeze and, in that moment, she realised what a mistake she had made.

He shifted abruptly behind her, trying to right himself, but slipped and the back of the broom jerked upwards. She spun around and saw him hurtling through the air, on a direct path to slam into the solid ground.

Hermione screamed. 

Without a second thought, she angled the broom almost perpendicular to the earth and launched it forward, tearing after him.

“Come on, come _on_ ,” she muttered feverishly, urging herself to go faster before pulling out her wand and aligning it with his plummeting form. “ _Aresto Momentum!_ ”

They were nearly at ground level, but he had slowed down just enough for her to reach him. She managed to manoeuvre into a position that enabled her to drag his body across the broom before landing gently onto the grass. 

The remnants of adrenaline still surging through her, Hermione carefully levitated Draco to the ground and saw that he was trembling. Her breath caught as she looked at him, finally able to acknowledge the feelings that had been simmering inside her for the last few weeks – she cared about him… a lot.

“Hey,” she whispered, kneeling beside him, “it’s okay, you’re safe.”

As he turned to face her and began to stand, she became abruptly aware that he wasn’t shaking from fear. No, he - was he laughing?

Hermione shot to her feet.

“Merlin, Granger,” he chuckled, a teasing look dancing across his features, “It seems I really am falling for you.”

She stared at him, confused as to how he could laugh and joke so soon after nearly plummeting to his death. Draco watched her carefully and raised an eyebrow, twirling his wand casually between his fingers, waiting for the realisation to sink in.

Her eyes widened. Had he fallen _on purpose_?

“You wouldn’t – you didn’t…” she sputtered.

His responding smirk didn’t alleviate her agitation.

“How _could_ you?” Hermione yelled, slamming her palms against his chest. “You could have died! We both could have!”

He held his hands up in what he must have thought was a placating gesture. “I knew you’d catch up to me! You just lack confidence, and _always_ respond better under pressure – it’s the only time you’re not running every possible outcome through your head first.”

“So what? Do you know how scared I was? What if something – ” she snapped her mouth shut, suddenly realising what she was about to say.

“What if something…” Draco paused, smirking, “happened to me?”

She huffed. “I only meant that if you’d have gotten hurt, well, it would’ve been difficult for me to get you up to the castle, is all.”

His eyes locked on hers and he didn’t look fooled. “Is that _really_ what you were worried about?” he spoke so softly, words barely above a whisper.

Hermione gulped, willing herself to disagree, but, when she opened her mouth, no words escaped.

Draco’s expression darkened as he took a step towards her, standing so close she felt his breath hot across her skin, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his lips. She wondered what it might feel like to have them pressed against her own, and her heat beat so fast it was almost painful.

He leant forward, his mouth suddenly enveloping hers, and everything seemed to stop. She felt as though she were frozen into place, unable to believe what was happening. Draco Malfoy was kissing her.

“Hermione,” he groaned, his lips hard on hers, swallowing her gasp at his use of her first name.

He was holding her so tightly and yet it didn’t feel like enough. She pressed herself closer, tangling her fingers into his soft hair. His tongue grazed the edge of her mouth and she responded immediately, her lips parting as he deepened the kiss.

Eventually, she slowly pulled away to catch her breath. He looked beautiful: eyes bright, hair tousled, cheeks flushed. Hermione swallowed. 

He gave her a small smile, leaning his forehead against hers. “So…”

“…So.”

* * *

A few days passed and, sat in the Great Hall for breakfast, it was finally time for Hermione to find out who she was going to be mentoring. She didn't hesitate this time as she carefully opened the piece of parchment in front of her and, with a smile, read:

_Mentor: Hermione Granger (Gryffindor)_

_Topic: Learn more about Muggle culture_

_Mentee: Draco Malfoy (Slytherin)_


End file.
